


Rose-Colored Glasses

by writteninthestarsforlou



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Usage, Bottom Louis, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Harry is a businessman, M/M, Sabrina AU, Slow Burn, Smut, Top Harry, but the endgame is larry, larry stylinson - Freeform, lots of pining, louis is in love with zayn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6166354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninthestarsforlou/pseuds/writteninthestarsforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry took Louis’ moment of processing to look at him closely. His cheekbones were more sharp than those damn glass shards. They hollowed out his cheeks, but not in a way that made him look unhealthy, but ethereal. His body was unfortunately, on Harry’s part, enticing, with subtle curves that contrasted with the sharp angles of his face and hips. The blue in his eyes was still vibrant in the dim room, like they had a glow of their own. He was glowing in general. Harry genuinely thought about how many watts made up Louis Tomlinson’s being because there was no way on Earth that a person could be this blinding without some electrical power behind it… That or he was the Sun. Harry was perplexed by the phenomenon either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all!
> 
> I had attempted to post a fic on here a while back, but due to some recent events, I took it down. So, basically, this will be my first Larry AU. Enjoy? I hope? Please comment what you think, leave kudos, and I will update as frequently as possible. 
> 
> Also: This chapter is unedited as of now.

Louis had always loved Zayn.

 

His mother had worked as the head chef of the Malik household since a few years after he was born, so it was natural that he would live in the service quarters with her. He grew up knowing champagne, house parties, and wealthy businessmen, but he had only known them with his nose pressed against the glass. He had always known them from the outside looking in.

 

It didn't bother him, not really. At its core, Louis adored the rest of the manor’s staff. His days were often spent with one or more of the maids, being more than happy to help them with their daily chores. However, he was the only child among them, and being the curious, adventurous young boy he was, he often became bored and distracted. It was because of this that at the age of seven, he met Zayn.

 

Louis had been sliding down the main staircase banisters, running back upstairs, and repeating the action for his own entertainment until he had seen another boy around his age at the bottom, watching. Louis leapt off of the wood and onto the tile floor cautiously, as not to hurt himself, and walked over to the boy.

 

“Do you want to try?” he had asked, flicking his honey-colored locks from his face. The other boy wrung his hands together nervously, hazel eyes darting back and forth between the banister and Louis, who awaited his answer with patience. The maids always told him that being patient was a good trait for a proper gentleman, and that if he ever wanted to attend one of the house parties, he should learn to be so.

 

So Louis waited patiently, or rather impatiently, but he didn't let it cross his face. When the boy finally replied with a bright smile and a “sure”, Louis had dragged him to the top of the stairs, telling him how to slide down without hurting himself. They had spent hours playing together, quickly becoming bored of the banisters, as children tend to lose focus quickly, and played other games like hide and seek, tag, and they had even pretended to be hosts like Zayn’s parents, sticking their noses high and swirling imaginary glasses of red wine.

 

When Zayn’s father had found the two children walking around the garden, he had simply rolled his eyes and took his son away, leaving Louis alone and confused.

 

Louis didn't officially speak to Zayn for another six years.

 

Louis was thirteen. Zayn was fifteen. Louis had continued to watch the Malik family host their events and see their company grow even more than it already had. Although, Louis’ main focus was Zayn. It didn't take long for the servant’s son to realize that what he felt for Zayn wasn't exactly platonic. He had watched with wide blue eyes from the tree just outside of the garden and backyard, where the Maliks hosted many of their birthday and anniversary dinners. He has watched Zayn grow up into a young man, or at least, as manly as one can be at the tender age of fifteen. Both of their baby fat had slowly been eaten away, and their features had become more defined, but Louis’ feelings never changed. There was a constant desire to dance with Zayn instead of with his mother (though he did love his mother very much), a need to hold his hand instead of dirty dishes, and there were too many things that Louis found that he wanted with Zayn, and he didn't think that it would ever go away.

 

“Zayn!” Louis had called to him one day, determined to make conversation. They had waved to one another in the hallways and had a few laughs at the clumsiness of the house staff, but their conversations never ventured further than that.

 

Zayn turned from his studies and smiled gently at Louis, but his eyes were searching for something else, most likely his father. “Hi, Lou. What's up?”

 

Louis’ heart fluttered at the nickname, but he adjusted the laundry basket in his arms to hide the rapidly approaching heat in his cheeks. “Nothing, really,” he said, looking back up, “we just haven’t really talked in awhile. I thought I'd stop by.”

 

Zayn gave him a sympathetic smile in return, “Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I’ve just always been caught up in studying and the parties and stuff.”

 

Louis waved his free hand dismissively, “Of course,” he faltered at the shakiness of his voice, but recovered quickly. Though, his next sentence came out a bit more deflated, “I understand. You're busy and have bigger and better things going on.”

 

He felt inadequate in Zayn’s presence. Where Zayn was slim and chiseled, Louis was all soft curves and wide hips. In some ways they were similar, both with long lashes and high cheekbones, but for Zayn, Louis thought that it just worked. To Louis, he thought that he was in over his head, but he also thought that you can't really choose who you fall in love with. It just… happens.

 

There was little conversation after that. Louis was leaning against the doorframe by his shoulder while Zayn sat at the cherrywood desk, and they conversed over trivial topics like the weather and their days thus far. It was all meaningless conversation, but to Louis, it was everything. If he had been speaking to anyone else, he wouldn't have given them so much of his attention, but this was the supposed love of his life. It was important.

 

After that, they kind of faded away from one another entirely.

 

The last time this happened, there was still small talk and friendly waves here and there, but for some reason, after that day, there was never coincidences of that nature. They barely saw each other, and nine out of ten of those times, Louis was sitting in his tree, wishfully thinking from afar.

 

If Louis had felt inadequate before, this was a new story. As the years went by and as Louis became older, he felt less and less worthy of even thinking about being in Zayn’s presence. There was no way, in his mind, that Zayn would look at him twice ever again. So, he focused on other things. He grew to love art and photography, science and literature. A scholar of the arts, he was. He began to dream of exploring the world and the many cultures it held, and that's how he ended up studying in Paris for a year, Zayn’s twenty-three year old face still burning in the back of his mind.

 

 

...One Year Later…

(Paris, France)

 

 

“J’ai doir aller à la maison. Je suis désolé!” Louis called over his shoulder apologetically, adjusting the satchel hanging heavily off of his shoulder. He had a lot of studying to do for his final exams, and as much as he would have liked to meet Nathalie and Paolo for a film, his priorities didn't involve such activities.

 

Nathalie frowned, her plum-colored lips pulling down, but shrugged and turned away with Paolo, who was waving as well with a radiant smile, all pearly white teeth on display. “Au revoir!” they had both replied.

 

Louis weaved his way through the cobblestone streets, admiring the daily life of the city. The sun was barely visible, only the traces of its purple and pink hues left in the sky, as the night was quickly approaching. The little shops and cafés (if they weren't already closed for the evening) had their lights turned on, people moving in a seemingly constant flow in and out of them. Louis found that it was only in Paris that everything had a rose-tinted hue, even the lights. Even the people.

 

The camera bouncing gently around Louis’ neck with each step was aching for use, and he couldn't refuse with the night looking as picturesque as it was.

 

He side-stepped out of the way of a few pedestrians and lifted the lens to his right eye, screwing the left one shut tightly. With a few clicks and triggers, he had captured the subtle beauty of the little things in black and white, color, and sienna. He grinned at his work before letting the camera fall back down on his abdomen and continued walking.

 

Tomorrow was his last day in Paris. After taking his exams, he would pack his things, get a good night’s sleep, and catch a flight back to London and finally, to the Malik estate.

 

Louis couldn't help but let his mind drift to Zayn. It would have been the first time he'd seen him in over a year, and many years since Zayn had even thought of Louis. He was different than he was when he left. He had lost weight, tamed his feathery fringe, and even acquired a tan that seemed to never fade, even in the winter months. Everything about him was honey-kissed and far more mature.

 

Now, Louis was not vain in any sense of the word. It was just that over the course of his year, he had come to accept himself and his looks, and he had become more confident in himself. Of course, there was doubt and days of insecurity, but overall, he had established a healthy relationship between mind and body, and he intended to keep it that way.

 

That didn't stop him from worrying what Zayn would say, or rather, if he would say anything at all. As Louis tracked up the stairs and unlocked the door to his flat, he shuttered at the thought. As he sat down at his slightly-too-small coffee table, he pulled out his textbooks and notepad, ready to study. Before that, though, he decided that he should write a letter to his mother, telling her of his homecoming:

 

Dear Mum,

 

This is my last letter from Paris, I may even be home before you get it. Don't worry about picking me up. I'd like to surprise you. It's strange, it's gone by so fast, Gertrude Stine said England is my country and Paris is my hometown. I'll always feel that way about Paris. I want so much for you to know what it's meant to me. When I cross the street, someone is usually playing La Vie En Rose. They do it for the tourists, but I'm always surprised at how it moves me. It means seeing life through rose-colored glasses. Only in Paris where the light is pink does that song make sense, but I'll have it in my pocket when I get home, and carry it with me wherever I go.

 

Love to you,

Louis xx

 

 

His exams went fairly well. In the end, he passed with flying colors. Flying on the way home was similar, shades of blue, gold, and white drifting past him in a hypnotizing, slow way. Soon, when the plane arrived in London, the sky quickly faded into a soft grey. Not that it was unusual for London to be grey; in fact, it was common, but Louis hadn’t seen the signature, ever-present clouds of the city, and he was excited by the feeling of being home.

 

He had called for a cab when he landed, but it was taking its time on arriving, so Louis took to setting his luggage down and simply taking in the city he had been away from for so long. Smiling, he observed the speedy cars and people blurring together as they raced to their busy lives. Paris was much more calm in the urban sense, he noted. He didn’t mind though.

 

With his taxi cab still nowhere in sight, he sighed, and as he was about to sit down on one of his suitcases, there was a voice calling to him.

 

“Excuse me. Um, excuse me, sir?” Louis whipped his head around and was met with a man with hazel eyes and black, swept back hair. Louis grinned. Zayn Malik.

 

“Yes? Can I help you?” he asked politely. Zayn didn’t seem to recognize him at all. Louis decided to have a bit of fun, play along a bit.

 

Zayn stuttered and chuckled nervously, gesturing to the overly-extravagant car rolling up towards them. It was all sharp edges, dark, shiny paint, and class, much like Zayn himself. “I- no- uh- Are you waiting for something?”

 

“Well, I was. I think my taxi may have forgotten about me,”

 

Zayn smiled charmingly, “Despicable.”

 

Attempting to maintain a sophisticated demeanor, he nodded with a closed-lip smile, “Indeed.”

 

“Do you-” he began, clearing his throat, “Do you need a lift?” Zayn didn't seem to recognize him still.

 

This will be fun, Louis thought to himself. He picked up his luggage and nodded. “Sure. Cheers, mate.”

 

“Cheers,” Zayn echoed as he watched the valet hand him his keys. He nodded to the podgy man in thanks and waved him off.

 

He opened the driver’s door and popped open the trunk. He took Louis’ bags, whose heart may have stopped for a second.

 

When they had climbed into the car, there was a calm silence. They drove out of Heathrow and made their way outside of the city lines, but just barely enough to see a country-esque road.

 

Louis gazed out at the window. The world seem to be constantly buzzing by today. “It's been a long time since I've been back home.”

 

Zayn hummed in response. “Where is home exactly?”

 

“Churchill Lane.”

 

“You're joking!” Zayn exclaimed, eyes widening but still on the road, “That’s where I live!”

 

Louis smirked, “I know. You live in house number seventy-right. The big one with the pretty lights at night and the private pool and tennis court.”

 

Zayn rolled his shoulders and let out a breathy chuckle. He took a brief moment to look at Louis through his peripherals. “Yeah. The street is lovely, especially in the spring like now. You probably know that, though.”

 

Louis couldn't help but giggle behind his hand and shake his head slightly. He turned towards Zayn, leaning his arm against the window. “You really don't know who I am, do you?”

 

Zayn scoffed playfully, “Of course I do. You're my… neighbor.”

 

Louis rolled his eyes and turned back to the road. They were turning gradually onto Churchill Lane, the familiar yet sparse estates coming into view. Louis was almost shocked, as he had been in a flat the size of Zayn’s bedroom for almost a year. He quickly got over it, though, seeing as it was his home. Well, partly.

 

“Here's yours,” Louis said, referring to the mansion to their right.

 

“Right,” Zayn said. He slowed the car down a bit, “Do you- Do you maybe want to come in for some tea?”

 

“I think that sounds lovely.”

 

People were scurrying around the front and back lawns, carrying various objects for what Louis assumed was a spur of the moment party. It wasn't uncommon at the Malik estate.

 

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, discreetly waving at the working staff. Zayn’s smile dimmed slightly, but he quickly regained his thousand-watt grin. “It's for my engagement.”

 

Louis’ stomach twisted rapidly and in knots. He had forgotten about that. He had received a letter about three months into his stay in Paris saying the Zayn Malik was to be married to a girl from the Edwards family. The marriage was, according to his mother, initially for economic purposes, but they had fallen in love swiftly and deeply. Flashes of Louis’ heartbreak and his almost-one-night-stand with Paolo and his many teary, drunken nights alone came rushing back up through his eyes in the form of tears. He blinked them away and raised his eyebrows with a pat to Zayn’s back. The contact burned him, he was sure.

 

“Engaged?” He exclaimed in feigned surprise. Zayn nodded.

 

“Engaged.”

 

“Oh, that’s right, isn't it. I knew about that. That's amazing! Congratulations!” he said with a gentle clap to Zayn’s shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” he responded genuinely. He gave Louis elevator eyes in suspicion at first, but looked more intrigued than anything. He shifted his jaw quickly from side to side in thought as he looked at Louis. He took Louis’ hand smoothly into his own and offered, “Would you like to come?”

 

Louis raised a brow, trying to suppress the pounding in his chest and the flush in his cheeks. “You want me to go?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Well, I guess I can consider-”

 

“If-” he cut Louis off suddenly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer, “-you tell me who you are.”

 

“Louis!” a much deeper voice called. His name slipped out like molasses from the man’s mouth, and when Louis turned, he was met with Zayn’s step-brother, Harry Styles.

 

“Louis?” Zayn mumbled to himself. Louis started to laugh, but said nothing to him.

 

Zayn and Harry weren’t opposites in looks, per say, but they certainly weren't similar. Zayn had dark, dreamy eyes while Harry’s were vibrant green and intense. Harry was also much taller than his step-brother, and broader.

 

Louis had met Harry only a handful of times growing up. Being the older of the two brothers and far more intellectually inclined, Harry was more often than not whisked away by his tutors and parents to study. He had taken over the business at age twenty when his father passed away at fifty-seven due to a cerebral aneurism.

 

All in all, Louis never really got to know him, never got to see what he was like as a child. He wondered fleetingly if he ever felt like a child at all.

 

“Hi, Harry,” Louis had greeted back, watching Harry walk closer to the pair with an intensity that he had always seemed to have whenever Louis got the rare opportunity of seeing him. 

 

“You look… older,” Harry smirked, putting his hands in his suit jacket pockets.

 

“Wait. Louis?” Zayn said, a hint of realization lacing his tone.

 

“And you look… tired,” Louis teased lightheartedly.

 

“Louis?” He repeated for the third time, voice breathy and shocked.

 

“Why does he keep saying that?” Harry asked, voice verging on annoyance. Louis laughed fully this time, throwing his head back and wiping a tear from his eye. He faced Zayn, who was blinking rapidly and taking Louis in like this was the first time he'd seen him.

 

“Holy shit!” he all but shouted, resulting in a swat from Harry and hissed out “language…”

 

Louis just smiled and let his eyes stay on Zayn. He finally recognized him. He wondered what would happen next.

 

Zayn mapped out his face with something akin to awe and sighed. “Where have you been all my life?”

 

“In the kitchen, for the most part.”

 

“You have to come to the party tonight,” Zayn said, a strange intensity in his voice that Louis only had an inkling of its implications.

 

“Of course I do. I am a staff member, after all,”

 

“As a guest,” he chuckled fondly. Harry gave his step-brother a stern look that was blatantly ignored. Louis darted his eyes back and forth between the two, but he was smart enough to know that he should leave for now.

 

“I’ll try my best to make it. I have to go see my mum right now, but it was good to see you again.” He smiled at Harry, “both of you,” he added. Harry gave what Louis had deemed his “business smile”: tight-lipped and accompanied by a barely-there tilt of his head. “I'll see you both tonight.”

 

“Bye, Louis.”

 

“Goodbye, Zayn.”

 

As Louis’ figure turned the corner to walk up the stairs and into the mansion, Zayn stared off, heart-eyed. There was the sound of Harry clearing his throat disapprovingly, and he turned around to look at his brother. Harry's eyes were fixed in a glare that resembled his mother, yet was stony like Zayn’s father. “What?”

 

The older of the two jabbed his pointer finger into Zayn’s chest, the golden ring on it blinding him briefly. “Don't.”

 

“Don't what?”

 

“You know what, Zayn. You're engagement party is tonight. This playboy act has to stop. I'm not having this company lose over a million dollars because you can't keep it in your pants.” Harry looked his brother in the eye, “Understand?”

 

Zayn’s nose scrunched up, offended. He shoved Harry’s finger away and scoffed, “I don't know what you're on about. Even if I did, it's not any of your business.”

 

“It's very much my business. Quite literally it is my business. Don't mess this up, Zayn. I'm warning you now.” And with that, Harry walked off, helping a butler with one of the chairs for tonight.

 

 

“So it was beautiful then?”

 

“Breathtaking, mum. It was amazing,” Louis gushed to his mother. He had moved with urgency to the kitchen after setting his bags down in his room, knowing that she would be there. When he had entered the room, the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed in comparison to the outside. That was the way that Jay Tomlinson affected every room she entered, though: with a motherly touch. The chefs and running staff were all humming and chatting amongst themselves, smiling contently as they prepared each hors d'oeuvre and main course. Baked goods and sizzling shrimp invaded Louis’ senses, and the smells and sounds instantly soothed him with their familiarity. He had scanned the colossal kitchen for his mum, and upon seeing her, zipped through the throng of workers (who he greeted, hugged, and/or kissed on the cheek, of course) to see her.

 

“Boo,” he whispered in her ear as she set down her ladle of tomato soup in the pot. She jumped and let out a delicate gasp with a hand over her mouth before whipping her head around, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Boobear!” She corrected jokingly, pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace, “I've missed you so much!” Louis was losing air rapidly but didn't want to pull away immediately, so he settled for nuzzling into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scents of her cheap drugstore perfume and rosemary herbs. It was better than all of the things he smelled in Paris, he decided.

 

“I've missed you, too, mum,” he replied with a kiss to her cheek. “I brought you souvenirs,” he told her, gently pushing himself away and reaching into the satchel across his chest.

 

“Oh, Lou, why did you do that? You know how I feel about giveaways…”

 

“It's not a giveaway, mum. They're keepsakes!” he argued jovially. First, he pulled out a small book with a dark green cover and golden lettering. “It's a cookbook! In English, of course, of popular and traditional French foods. I tried a few myself while I was there. Delicious, they were, especially the poulet basquaise,” he confessed, his mouth watering at the mention of it. He shook his head and smiled as he pulled out a simple rose-tinted scarf made out of cashmere. “This one’s for the nippy winter days. The color made me think of Paris,” he smiled, wrapping it around her neck as they made their way out of the kitchen traffic.

 

“These are-”

 

“I'm not done yet!” He interrupted, “I have one more.” He searched a bit deeper into the bag before making a little “aha” noise and pulling out a lock.

 

“A padlock?” she asked with skepticism. Louis nodded vigorously, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

 

“Yep,” he said proudly, popping the ‘p’, “I nicked it from the Pont des Arts. It took a bit of work, see? You can tell by the little scratches and dents there, but I got it!”

 

“Louis William Tomlinson!” his mother exclaimed, examining the aforementioned scratches and dents. She tried not to be endeared. “How dare you take away somebody’s lock like that. Shame on you!” She swatted him upside the head, but kissed his temple immediately after with a chuckle. “I guess I'll have to keep it now out of respect. Cheeky boy. Have you seen the Maliks and Styles yet?” Louis nodded and explained the recent events, including his invitation to the party tonight. At that, his mother sent him away to get ready, seeing as the party was no more than three hours away.

 

He didn't really think there was much for him to wear. As he unpacked his bags, he began to lose hope that he would find anything suitable for such a high-class occasion. He eventually stumbled across the suit that he had worn to his and Nathalie’s first art exhibition. It was a very form-fitting, entirely black suit. It was Kent-cut which showed the curve of his back and the slim, almost feminine figure that was his torso. It was very flattering, but not without some tailoring. His friend Amelia was a clothing design major, and she had made the adjustments to fit him exceptionally well. He decided that the suit was his best option, and most likely his only one, so he slipped it on with a bit of struggle. The pants were very tight, which Louis was slightly disgruntled with.

 

Overall, however, when he examined himself in the mirror for the final time, hair styled in a feathery, windswept sort of way above his hairline and his body spritzed with Calvin Klein’s Eternity for Men, he felt confident enough to walk out into the party.

 

Walking towards the party was the most stressful moment of Louis’ short life at that moment. For years, he had pictured this moment in his mind, fantasized it since he was young, and now it was really happening. He took in everything as he approached the giant white tent-like structure: the fairy lights wrapped around and woven into the trees in the walkway to the gardens, the stars glistening where they couldn't. He observed the stones that crunched beneath each of his steps with a cursory glance as well as the moon which was nearly full, yet not quite there.

 

It wasn't until he had officially reached the entrance, a small arch covered in ivy, that he heard the orchestra playing soothingly as the guests made their rounds. Businessmen and their wives made up the majority of the crowd with the occasional family friend floating from one area of the tent to the other. They were all so beautiful, old as they were. It was the grace and poise in everything they did, but at the same time, Louis wasn't so sure that he was really the type of person who would want to act that way at all. The guests all seemed to be made of plastic or wax like dolls. They were all fake, and they all knew it about one another, but they continued on as if it were a performance, a show of sorts. It disheartened him. He loved the theatre, and none of the actors were giving a very convincing performance.

 

He nearly turned back, but Zayn spotted him through the crowd and beamed at him, brighter than the lights he had gazed at on his way there. How could he refuse the man’s beckoning when he looked like a firework that had just begun to go off?

 

“You made it,” Zayn said in greeting. Louis melted into a blubbering mess as he became lost in the sleek charcoal of his jacket and the sharp quiff of his hair. The stubble lining his jaw and mouth were devastatingly flattering to his cheekbones.

 

“Y-yes. Yes. That's… true,” Louis answered lamely. He mentally cursed himself at his stupidity, but if Zayn found it anything less than charming, he hid it well as he smoothly took Louis’ smaller hand into his warm ones, guiding him closer to where the orchestra was playing.

 

“You look stunning,” he commented as he set Louis’ right arm on his shoulder and his own arms around Louis’ waist. They swayed along to the romantic beat of the music as an afterthought with their conversation.

 

“Thank you,” Louis breathed out with wide eyes, swallowing and looking down at their feet, suddenly hyper aware of the situation he was in. It had to be a dream.

 

“I don't think you realize how alluring you are,” he continued. Louis thought that Zayn was losing his mind, or maybe it was him. He still wasn't sure if this was a dream or not. He dug the fingers he had on Zayn's shoulder into his palm, and when he didn't wake up in bed with a hollow feeling in his chest, he tried his best to restrain the carnival taking place in his stomach.

 

“Alluring?” Louis said, but it came out more like a question. He searched Zayn’s eyes for insincerity, but he was met with intrigue and infatuation possibly.

 

“Alluring,” he nodded. Louis wasn't sure when their bodies had gotten closer or when the song changed, but it didn't really bother him. Zayn took his time before he spoke again, taking in Louis like a glass of wine: in little, yet deep sips. “Can we talk somewhere else, somewhere that isn't so overbearing?”

 

“Oh, I don't know,” Louis’ voice came out shakily, his eyes bouncing around the party guests. He caught the eye of the Malik’s soon-to-be in-laws and Zayn’s stepmother, Anne. He skillfully turned them so that he had his back to them. He saw his mother, along with a few other staff members, giving him thumbs up and proud smiles, which he returned sheepishly.

 

“Please,” Zayn pleaded quietly, intimately, “It's been years since we last spoke. I haven't seen you… I don't think I ever have seen you.” In his last statement, he leaned back slightly, looking Louis in the eyes for emphasis. “We could go to-”

 

“-the greenhouse,” Louis said, heart speeding up like a drum in his ribcage, “You'll take us to the greenhouse, won't you?” It came back to him in clips. Zayn had always been charming and funny and romantic, easy for any woman to fall in love with. From where Louis used to watch from his tree, he had learned Zayn’s method of seduction fairly easily. “You'll take a bottle of champagne, and then you'll smuggle two flutes into the back pockets of your suit jacket.”

 

Zayn’s eyebrows flew up towards his hairline, and an amused smile slowly adorned his features. “I don't think my suit has any back pockets. You weren't paying attention," he smiled down at Louis. "We’ll do something like that. One moment,” and Zayn was off to fetch the supplies.

 

 

Meanwhile, Anne Styles and Debbie and Alexander Edwards were eyeing the two young men dancing with an eagle's eye.

 

“Anne, I don't like this,” Alexander had stated, the wrinkles in his forehead prominent out of distaste.

 

Anne followed his eyes with concern before they landed on Louis and Zayn, and it took her a moment to realize who her stepson was dancing with. “That's Louis! Oh my. I wouldn't worry about that boy. He and Zayn are like siblings. They've known each other since they were children!” she explained, not believing her own words entirely as she saw the pair drift closer together.

 

“I have siblings.” Alexander said, “We don't dance like that.” Debbie grunted in a mixture of agreement and skepticism, and Anne began to panic. She found Harry making idle conversation with one of their current clients, Patrick Bates.

 

“Just a minute, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards,” she excused herself. She knocked on the window that she saw Harry inside of, demonstrating the durability of one of their company’s latest products. All six men in the room faced the window, but Anne paid them no mind. She gave Harry a gesture to come outside, to which he nodded and presumably asked the gentlemen to excuse him. Anne saw him jog down the patio steps to her.

 

“What is it, mum?” Harry asked, mildly irritated. He was about to finally sell those bastards on the company. He'd been on the case for months.

 

Anne didn't seem to care about his aggravation as she pulled him by the bicep to look into the crowd of guests. “It's Zayn. He's been dancing with that staff boy, Louis, for most of the night. Perrie isn't here, but her parents are, and they're getting paranoid! Go get Zayn in the study, please.”

 

Harry’s attention perked at the situation. This was exactly what he told his half-wit brother not to do. He agreed briefly to his mother, and she sped off into the house and made her way to the study. Harry, on the other hand, marched towards the Zayn, who was beginning to walk away from the beverage stand. “Do you have a minute?” he asked through gritted teeth, a calm and collected expression on his face. Always calm and collected.

 

“Actually, I-”

 

“Of course you do.” Harry said, wrapping an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and tugging him inside and into the study.

 

Anne was pacing back and forth in an impatient manner. When the two brothers entered and made their way further into the room, she ran over and shut the tall, wooden doors behind them. “What do you think you're doing, Zayn?” she asked in exasperation. Harry had backed off a bit, opting for leaning against the desk and watching.

 

“What?” Zayn replied in a similar tone.

 

“What are you doing with the boy?”

 

“We were just dancing!”

 

“Well stop dancing!” Anne begged, “Do you realize that your fiancé’s already uptight, paranoid parents are watching you out there? And you're trying to seduce the head chef’s son right in front of them! You can't ruin this, Zayn!”

 

Zayn lifted his arms with his palms up, eyes bulging and jaw dropping in offense and exaggerated shock. “We were just dancing!”

 

Both Anne and Harry gave him the same look that read “are you kidding me?”

 

“This marriage is worth over one million American dollars,” Harry piped up solemnly. “If you mess this up-”

 

“-I will kill you,” Anne said almost too seriously. Zayn knew she wasn't serious, but the threat still struck fear in him. Suddenly, he became defensive.

 

“Neither of you understand! You don't know what it’s like when I'm with him! I think- I know that this sounds crazy- but I think I'm actually falling in love with him!”

 

Harry's jaw tightened visibly, and he shifted his weight from left to right.

 

“Oh for fucks sake,” Anne muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. She moaned in despair. As Anne and Zayn continued to bicker, Harry noticed the outlines of two champagne flutes in Zayn’s back pockets of his trousers. The gears in his brain clicked all at once.

 

“Mum, go find the Edwards. You need to calm them down.” He demanded firmly, yet politely. Anne sighed, muttering to herself as she walked towards the doors. “Zayn, have a seat. You need to think about something rationally for once.”

 

Zayn rolled his eyes but threw himself into the nearest chair, and howling in pain at the same time that a series of cracking noises was heard. Anne rushed back to Zayn’s side. “What happened?” she cried. 

 

“I sat on the glasses!” Zayn yelled, the crunching of glass increasing with each of his movements. Anne was leaving to fetch one of the maids in a heartbeat. 

 

“Stay here!”

 

“I can't! Louis is waiting for me, but I can't go to him like this. I'm bleeding!” he shouted. Anne rolled her eyes,

 

“Harry, go find Louis and make up some explanation about what happened. I'm getting one of the maids to help,” she ordered. Harry patted himself on the back internally, but only nodded and power-walked his way outside, Zayn’s howls of pain ceasing once he shut the doors leading to the back lawn.

 

He made a left turn onto an almost hidden, narrow path and jogged to the greenhouse. He looked through the glass door and saw Louis with his back to him, head turning ever-so often to examine different plants in the building. Harry took a deep breath and collected himself, straightening out his tie and fixing his long hair before opening the door with a stoic figure.

 

Louis muttered an “oh” upon seeing Harry and not Zayn, deflating a bit.

 

“Hi,” Louis said with a graceful wave of his hand.

 

“Expecting Zayn, I’m assuming.” Harry stepped closer to where Louis was, but maintaining a respectable three meters between them.

 

Louis tilted his head a bit to the left. “How did you know?”

 

“I'm sending you a message from him,” Harry said, “He couldn't make it, though he did, trust me. It's just… He’s a bit incapacitated at the moment.”

 

“He's hurt? What happened?”

 

“Sharp champagne flutes, I guess,” he said, almost accusingly, and Louis flinched at the words. In a way, it was his fault, he concluded.

 

Harry took Louis’ moment of processing to look at him closely. His cheekbones were more sharp than those damn glass shards. They hollowed out his cheeks, but not in a way that made him look unhealthy, but ethereal. His body was unfortunately, on Harry’s part, enticing, with subtle curves that contrasted with the sharp angles of his face and hips. The blue in his eyes was still vibrant in the dim room, like they had a glow of their own. He was glowing in general. Harry genuinely thought about how many watts made up Louis Tomlinson’s being because there was no way on Earth that a person could be this blinding without some electrical power behind it… That or he was the Sun. Harry was perplexed by the phenomenon either way.

 

“I see,” was all Louis said, but it made Harry’s chest tighten uncomfortably.

 

“He will want to see you tomorrow. I'm sure of it.”

 

“Yes. I'm sure,” he trailed off uncertainly, his eyelashes fluttering as if trying to blink away an emotion.

 

“Right.” Harry quipped.

 

“Right…” Louis echoed.

 

“I should- I should be going now,” Harry coughed into his fist, and Louis nodded in agreement.

 

He tried to make an exit.

 

However, it was then that Harry concluded that Louis was in fact powered by the sun because he had discovered his gravitational pull. His feet were being pulled over to Louis by some force that wasn't by his own accord, and all he managed to get out was: “oh, I almost forgot.” before his lips collided with Louis’ thin ones.

 

Harry’s chest filled like a pitcher with warmth and that cozy feeling one gets by a fireplace as the kiss deepened. He melted over Louis’ petite frame, about to pull him closer until he realized what he was doing and ripped himself away. His mind was circuiting out, and all he could think to say was “That was the rest of Zayn’s message.”

 

Louis slapped him.

 

“Thanks. I needed that.” Harry did. He finally came back down to earth, his mind racing.

 

“No- wait- I- no. I shouldn't have-”

 

“It's alright. I-”

 

“No I mean, it's just… My handprint, it's on your face now.”

 

Harry groaned and ran a large hand down the unmarked side of his face. He wasn't sure what had come over him, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let it happen again. He could defy gravity if he wanted. He was Harry Styles, businessman prodigy. He could do it. If he could graduate from Oxford by age nineteen, he could do almost anything.

 

“I think I need to go. I also think it would be best if you picked up your messages directly from now on. It can avoid any miscommunication.”

 

Wordlessly, after that, Harry fled the greenhouse, leaving Louis to ponder the reasons why Harry reminded him of the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little over a week since I posted the first chapter of this story, and the feedback I've received is more than I expected, so thank you so much !! Please leave comments and kudos ! Thanks to all .xx

78 Churchill Lane  
(One Year Ago)

 

It was all by chance, really. Perrie Edwards was a pediatrician at the local children’s hospital, nothing too special on her own. She had been on her lunch break when she met Zayn, and it didn’t really take long for them to fall for each other.

It was the first time that Zayn had felt the need to settle down, though he hadn’t really acknowledged that fact until later. When they had first met, it was at a little cafe down the block from both of their workplaces (not that Zayn did much work at all. Harry just needed him for sales. It was all about reputation.) They had ordered the same thing, and as usual, Zayn put on his most charming face and wooed her in an instant, or so he thought.

As it turned out, Perrie was a stronger woman than that. She wasn’t so easy, and Zayn became more and more attracted to the chase. Not only that, but he genuinely found his palms sweating, heart fluttering, among a handful of other common symptoms of “love”.

Harry was skeptical in the beginning.

 

 

“Harry!” Zayn had called to him two months later. Harry glanced up from his open car door with a bored, impatient emotion swimming in his eyes.

“What is it?” he drawled, putting one long leg into the car, “I’m about to leave for lunch with Jason Callahan. This better be good,”

“It is!” Zayn nodded vigorously, “I met someone!”

Harry’s brows furrowed immediately, and he glanced at his Rolex before stepping around the car to stand face-to-face with his step brother. “Oh, really? the last time you ‘met’ someone, it cost us twenty-five grand.”

“This is different, though! She’s funny and smart…”

“Wow, that’s never come up before.” Harry snorted, but his statement was serious. Always serious.

“I’m bringing her to dinner, Harry. I need you to make me look good,” he said, then paused for a brief moment. “Well, I know I look good, but I need you to make me _sound_ good. Talk about my… qualities. My… accomplishments.”

Harry just stared blankly at him, blinking once as the toe of his boot dug into the gravel.

“Lie, then!” Zayn elongated the words, offended, but he knew it was true. He didn’t really have many accomplishments aside from his charisma and party-hosting abilities.

“What’s her name?” Harry asked next, leaning against the passenger side of the vehicle, rolling his neck. He winced when it cracked multiple times, but he paid it little mind.

“Perrie Edwards,” his brother said. Harry stayed silent, his mouth slightly agape. He quickly pursed his lips, regaining his composure and hurriedly piled into the car.

“I’ll lie for you, Zayn. Do _not_ mess this up. I wish you the best of luck.” His words were muffled as he shut the door and drove off without another word. Zayn was left in a cloud of beige dust, puzzled by his brother’s lack of interrogation. He smiled obliviously to himself and waltzing inside with the assumption that he had simply lightened up a bit.

“Thank fuck for that,” he mumbled to himself, pulling out his mobile and dialing Perrie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louis had seen the exchange, and although he knew something like this was going to happen one day, it still settled uncomfortably in his stomach. Like a stone hitting still water, it rippled through him, the feeling of rejection, defeat perhaps? Or maybe, he thought, it was the dreaded toll of acceptance. He had to come to terms with the fact that the idea of being with Zayn was one of pure fantasy. He slowly trudged back into the foyer, his breaths coming out in a choppy, uneven rhythm. Tears stung the back of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He was stronger than that.

The night approached all too quickly. Louis had all but locked himself in his room for the majority of the day, lamenting his first and most likely worst heartbreak.

He had quarantined himself for nearly three days before Jay decided that she'd had enough of this. She barged into the room, apron still on from working.

“Louis William Tomlinson.” She called to him sternly, staring at the unmoving lump in the navy blue comforter. There was an almost inaudible groan from within it, but Jay was having none of it. “Louis, get up. You are not a little boy anymore. Get up and find a solution to whatever problem you have.”

Louis’ head poked out of the top of the bed, hair disheveled and blue eyes cloudy. “I'm dealing with it just fine. This is my solution…”

“Moping until you grow a backbone?”

“I have a backbone.”

“You're convincing me otherwise.”

“Mum,” Louis whined, sitting up fully now, and curled in on himself. “Can I please just be alone?”

Jay frowned, seeing her son crumbling bit by bit in front of her. Her composure slipped away in the blink of an eye, and she cautiously sat herself down on the edge of Louis’ bed. The mattress groaned with age, and Jay sighed as she brought her eyes up to meet her son’s identical ones. “What's wrong, love?”

“He finally did it, mum. He fell in love.”

“Who?”

“Zayn…”

Jay smiled sympathetically, gathering her son into her arms, which he complied to without hesitation. He really was a mama’s boy. “Darling, I'm so sorry. At least now you won't have to keep wondering, yeah? You can start anew.”

Louis shrugged and sighed quietly to himself.

“Speaking of starting anew,” she grinned as she began speaking, pulling Louis up so that they were on the same level, “How would you like to go to Paris?”

The reaction was immediate. Louis’ eyes shot fully open and he froze entirely, the shock never leaving his face as he choked out quietly, “What do you mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like. Would you like to go to Paris?”

“Well, of course I would _like_ to go-” Louis breathed out with a laugh, still in a bit of disbelief from the random question, “-but you know that we don't have that kind of money, mum.”

Jay hummed with a mischievous raise of her eyebrows and a closed-lip smile. “Funny that… because your granddad’s will says otherwise. Do you remember when you were little, and you asked granddad what Louis meant? He said that he was a king of France, and you told him that one day, you would go there and take back your country.” Jay chuckled fondly at the memory, her eyes glazed over as she watched it like a film in her head. She grinned, teeth and crow’s feet on display, and took both of her son’s hands in his. “He left you some money, Lou. He paid for you to study for a year in Paris.”

Louis was already crying. Just thinking about his granddad was difficult enough since he passed away, but this. This was something else. “Mum,” he managed to choked out before he was pulling her in close, tears finally spilling from his eyes.

“You better study, Lou. If you mess about for a year, I better not find out about it. Enjoy yourself, of course. Explore and enjoy, but keep to your studies. Granddad didn't give you this so that you could learn nothing from it. Do you understand?”

Louis nodded and wiped away his tears, regaining some composure. “So, when do I head out?” he asked.

 

 

He left one week later.

But before that, he knew that he had never been away from the Malik-Styles Estate for this long. He also knew that he may never really get the chance to tell Zayn how he felt, seeing as he was in a serious relationship and all. Therefore, the night before he left, he held his pride in a chokehold as he walked down the hallway. It was cold and dark save for the light emanating from the open door near the end. Windows cast a bit of moonlight, but it did nothing to calm Louis’ nerves.

He was so caught up in his stressed out state of mind that he completely missed the fact that he was standing at Harry’s doorway, not Zayn’s.

There was a suitcase on the giant expanse of the bed, which sat in the middle of the room. Louis had never really been into Zayn’s room before, so he took his time to scan the cream and rose-gold patterns that made the room elegant and refined in awe. Everything was clean and sharp. Louis didn't feel like Zayn’s personality was really into the room, but in reality, what did Louis even know?

There was a commotion from the ensuite, and Louis’ attention snapped back from its reverie. “Hello?” a muffled voice called from the closet. “Is anyone there?”

Louis’ heart rate sped up and his palms began to sweat. “It-it’s uh, it's Louis…”

Harry stood in the closet, and his eyebrows raised for a fraction of a second in surprise before he rolled his shoulders. “Oh. What can I-”

Before Harry could walk out of the closet and fully out of the bathroom, Louis saw the door begin to open up more and he all but shouted, “Wait! Don't come out. Don't say anything... If I see you, I may not be able to say what I need to and get through this.”

Harry leaned against the doorframe, waiting to hear what Louis had to say. Louis cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began to speak with his eyes closed.

“I just wanted to say that… I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I'm going to be in Paris for a long time, and I don't expect you to think about me while I'm gone or anything. You didn't think about me while I was here.”

Harry grimaced, recalling the few occasions in his childhood where he did see Louis. He could easily count them on his fingers. Louis’ little speech was starting to confuse him and maybe make him a bit uncomfortable. He listened anyways, having an inkling as to where Louis was going with this

“I guess I just… I just wanted to let you know that… I think, no matter what they say or think about you, I think I know you better than anyone. I think you're a wonderful person.”

Louis had his eyes screwed shut and his left hand was losing circulation in the clutch of his right one. He was deflating, though, with each word. The stress and pent up emotion of around a decade was slowly draining out. To say that confessing all of this to Zayn was nerve wracking was an understatement.

Harry, on the other hand, was both confused and taken aback. He liked Louis, he always had, but this was something strange in its entirety.

“Just know that there's someone far away that will be thinking of you. I'll be thinking of you.”

“Thank you,” was all he said. His eyes were burning holes through the bathroom door, as were Louis’, but for different reasons. “That means a lot.”

“Right. You're welcome.”

Louis was gone by the morning, before Harry could even find him. He searched the manor for the servant boy, but to no avail. For the next year, Harry went about his daily routines, pondering the reasons why Louis reminded him of the sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves !! xxx I updated, and I know the chapters are seemingly shorter, but as the story progresses, they will get longer, so if it bothers you, then don't worry. Comments are a writer's motivation, so leave lots of those as well as kudos ! Enjoy !

78 Churchhill Lane  
(Present Day)

 

 

 

  
Louis sighed as the shower head pounded him with hot water. His eyes fluttered open to watch the soapy suds crawl between his toes and evidently his legs to the drain, where they spiraled downwards and away to somewhere he didn’t have the slightest interest in knowing.

 

While he washed out the generic-smelling shampoo from his hair, his mind drifted to Zayn, as it usually did. It was strange, to say the least, the occurrences from the night before. The taste of cigarettes from Harry’s lips stung his for a brief second before he let out a whoosh of humid air and refocused. Again, it was strange of Zayn to act the way he did. Although Louis tried not to think about it too much, Zayn was, in fact, engaged. It wasn’t a new concept of the ink-haired man being a playboy, but even he had to know the severity of being betrothed.

 

Apparently not, Louis thought to himself bitterly as he let the rivulets of now clear water cascade down the curve of his back. He turned to face the shower head and knobs, slowly turning one of them to stop the water. Grabbing the fluffy green towel from over the shower door, he stepped out and hissed at the cold air surrounding him.

 

He wrapped the towel around his waist and padded over to the sink, where he wiped a circle in the mirror to see himself and a smiling face next to it as an afterthought.

 

From there, he began to brush his teeth as he examined himself in the little window he had created. He thought himself weak for letting Zayn get to him. Overall, Louis was a strong-willed person, or so he liked to think. He figured that after a year of not thinking about him, he would have at least had the willpower to know when he is standing in the middle of an engagement. Then again, he thought as he spit the foamy toothpaste into the sink, Zayn had always been charming, and maybe Louis was like an alcoholic. He had just been going through rehab but once he got a sip, it was all over.

 

It didn’t change the fact that he was weak for succumbing.

 

He scoffed at himself as he continued to dry off, hanging the towel on a hook behind the door. He frowned at the smiley face he had drawn, which now looked to be crying and drooling as it had begun to drip.

 

When Louis walked into his room, he immediately opened up his suitcase to search for some clothes. It didn’t take him long to grab whatever was on the top and shimmy into it. He caught a glimpse of the suit that he had worn last night, his stomach swooping when Harry flashed through his mind once again.

 

“God,” he groaned, slipping on a pair of socks. There was a hesitant knock on his door that made him clench his heart so that it wouldn’t jump from his chest. “Shit. One second, mum!” He called through the door, slipping on a light grey coat from an armchair.

 

“It’s not your mother,” a deep, male voice replied. Louis froze, and it took him a moment for him to properly form words. By the time he had, he had already swung open the door.

 

“Harry,” he said, taking in the man. His curls were artfully falling to his shoulders, one side tucked behind his small ear. He wore a suit once more, though this one was less formal than last nights’: an open charcoal suit jacket and cream dress shirt left untucked. His boots were even a bit scuffed up at the toe, which seemed a bit out of character. Everything about Harry always seemed to be sharp and clean-cut, even his cologne, which Louis noted smelled sweeter than he expected, almost like vanilla or something floral.

 

“Hello,” Harry swallowed, a flicker of anxiety in his eyes revealed. His eyes were very expressive. Louis kept that in mind, but didn’t react as he smiled back politely.

 

“Hello. Any reason why you’re at my bedroom door at ten o’clock in the morning?” Harry’s lips pursed and his eyebrows pinched together, clearing his throat.

 

“Yes. It’s Zayn. He was asking for you.” Harry’s words slipped off of his tongue like molasses, slow and smooth. Louis had always liked Harry’s voice, even as a child. Although, something was most definitely off. He seemed to be biting back comments or thoughts raging behind his green irises.

 

Louis knew the feeling, but was unnervingly curious as to why Harry wanted to pull out of him. He knew this was going to be a long morning, an interrogation of sorts.

 

Louis felt a smile start to creep onto his face at Harry’s false formality and poorly-hidden manipulation. Louis did love a bit of mischief and games. “Do you always deliver Mr. Malik’s messages in such formal fashions?” he drawled, exaggerating each stressed syllable and deepening his voice obnoxiously. Harry almost smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching for a fraction of a second.

 

In the end, Harry rolled his eyes, scoffing with his manners slipping briefly. “Are you coming or not? He’s in the poolhouse.”

 

Louis nodded and slipped on some shoes before falling in step with Harry as they walked through the backyard and garden to reach the aforementioned pool house.

 

Louis knew that Harry was eyeing him through his peripheral vision. He wasn't completely oblivious. The question was why. Both of them held the same simple question, but with very different motives.

 

“So,” Harry said, facing fully to the path in front of them, hair fluttering gracefully behind him in the cool morning breeze, “You were in Paris for a year.”

 

“I was.”

 

“Your mum tells me you were there studying,” he said, Louis’ eyebrows pinching together and mouth pursing forward.

 

“I was,” he repeated. He released air through his nostrils, confusion lacing his words as he added,“You were talking to my mum?”

 

“I was.” Harry smirked, mimicking Louis’ light, raspy tone. Louis clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, humming joyfully in his throat with a giggle.

 

“Ah, the reclusive business fiend Harry Styles does have a sense of humor, then?”

 

Harry saw a flash of white from how hard his eyes rolled at the comment, the lift of the right corner of his lip giving him away. “I don't know what you've heard that made you think I didn't.”

 

Louis’ brows arched delicately in amusement, the ball rolling into his court. “Oh, I've heard lots. I'm surprised you haven't.”

 

“Like what? What have you heard?”

 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Louis teased, sighing with a smile and saying in a more hushed tone, daring to wrap a hand around Harry’s bicep. “Well, one of my personal favorites: they say that you're the world’s only living heart donor.”

 

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Harry called out, astonished. Louis raised his left shoulder in a small shrug, holding his hands in front of him in a defensive way.

 

“Don't shoot the messenger. You asked.” Louis frowned, eyes fixated on the cloudy sky in no particular spot. “It's definitely not the worst. It's funny, if you want it to be.”

 

Harry curled in his lips, eyes squinting as he stopped walking. The gravel under his feet crunched softly as he said, “Not everything can be funny just because you want it to be. Some things are just better left serious.”

 

Louis stopped and twirled around to be in front of and facing Harry. “Of course _you_ would say that,” he muttered with a slight shake of his head. “I'm not saying that you should never take life seriously. I don't think anyone can really do that. I'm saying that if you always take life seriously, then it becomes mundane, pointless,” Louis leaned on a fraction of an inch, eyebrows raising slightly as his blue eyes met Harry’s mossy ones. “Lifeless.”

 

Harry leaned closer even less than Louis, a smirk on his handsome face as he whispered back, “A life is meaningless either way if you don't have a heart to begin with, sunshine.” He patted Louis’ shoulder as he stood straight again, walking forward, Louis stepping backwards to walk as well but still maintain their stance.

 

“Well, of course. Your heart is the center of emotion! Without it, you can't feel joy or sadness or love-”

 

“Hm,” Harry hummed lowly in his throat, “You seem to know a lot about emotions. Tell me more. Have you ever actually experienced love before?” They both gradually came to a full stop, scanning each other with flaming intensity. A light bulb flickered on in Louis’ head just as Harry set down his pawn to claim checkmate.

 

“Yes,” Louis replied confidently, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face, “I have.”

 

“Last night?”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

 

“Oh I didn't mean me, sunshine.” Harry put his hands in the pockets of his slacks, tilting his chin up. His face was hard and callous, serous and hostile. Louis refused to back down, but he knew what was coming. He felt the knots in his stomach tightening with each second that passed by in silence.

 

Harry leaned down to Louis’ eye level, his expression reading as both consoling and threatening somehow. “Zayn is engaged. Do you understand that?”

 

Louis swallowed, bowing his head down when his face contorted into what he considered an ugly expression that he would make when he was upset. His face would flush and his eyes would sting, making him curl in and bite his lip. He didn't like the lines that formed between his brows or the wetness in his eyes.

 

He saw Harry’s long, slender fingers slip under his chin and lift his face up, and he tried his best to restructure it to a neutral state.

 

“Do you understand?” Harry repeated. Louis nodded slowly, releasing his bottom lip from his teeth.

 

They took a moment to look at one another, simply observing. Harry smiled eventually, tapping his index and middle finger with feather-light pressure onto the centre of Louis chest. “You'll be fine. Just remember: this,” he tapped one last time before moving his fingers up to Louis’ forehead, tapping there as well, “isn't going to work correctly without this.” Louis knew what Harry was trying to say, and more than anything, he was intrigued by the older brother.

 

“Right.” Louis nodded once more as Harry’s hand came back to fall gracelessly to his side. When Louis looked behind him, he realized that they had arrived at the pool house. A small “oh” fell from his lips as he turned back to face Harry, whose eyes were already boring into him. Harry put a large hand on Louis’ shoulder as he kept his face emotionless and began to step past the smaller lad.

 

“Louis, you're a good lad. I like you. I always have, but I'm not going to let you ruin my brother’s wedding and cost me a million dollars,” he called, not bothering to look over his shoulder, “I don't care how great your arse looks.”

 

Harry had entered and closed the door to the pool house before Louis could whip around and have a solid reaction.

 

“Wait. What the fu-” Louis fumbled, turning from left to right multiple times for no reason other than complete and utter confusion before he started to make his way up the stairs, too. “What the fuck?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, it's been months, but the good news is that summer is at its peak! I'm going to be focusing on updating both stories I have in the works as much as possible. If you haven't, go check out my other story, One Fairytale No Sugar Added, and tell me what you think. LEAVE COMMENTS AND KUDOS. ENJOY, LOVES. xxx

Louis had no clue how to react to what had just happened, naturally. He was under the impression that Harry Styles had completely and totally lost his mind, but he wasn’t about to step out of line and scold the person who had help to run his life behind the scenes for as long as he could remember.

 

That, however, didn’t make the situation any less awkward.

 

He made sure that Harry was already walking down the hall before he entered the poolhouse, doing so by watching through the glass panes of the door. He deemed it safe to enter as he saw the older man turn on his heel to walk down a corridor to the left and entered with a stream of curses.

 

“Ridiculous,” he grunted as he shut the door, “Absolute arse, he is.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, continuously grunting colorful language as he walked down the same hallway. He didn’t hear the lack of footsteps after a few seconds. “I have half a mind to deck that bastard son of a-”

 

“-Can you stop muttering about me like a child so I can stop pretending I don’t hear you?” Harry had suddenly reappeared, leaning his shoulder against the frame of the hallway, legs crossed as the ankle, a bored set to his eyes and a glint of amusement in the delicatetly lifted arch of his right brow and lips. In his moment of shock, Louis may have even considered the stance to be alluring, but in all that had happened, all he could do was glare and roll his eyes.

 

“Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m angry. You violated me.”

 

“ _ Violated  _ you?” Harry scoffed, a single huff of laughter punching out of him. He shook his head and licked his lips that were stretched in an incredulous smile of sorts. He rolled his eyes as well, throwing his hands in the air as he lifted himself gracefully into a standing position and began to turn the corner. “Well excuse me, sunshine. I didn’t mean to compromise your chastity.”

 

Louis’ affronted gasp echoed in Harry’s ears like a bell as the smaller man caught up to him, walking hurriedly at his side to keep up. “You’re a prick.”

 

“You ran your little legs all the way down the hall just to tell me that? Sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s not original. I’ve heard it a thousand times.”

 

When there was no fiesty remark in response, Harry turned his head to find Louis peering up at him, curiosity present and all traces of anger dissipated, or at the very least, momentarily repressed. “What do you mean? I thought you never heard what they say about you.”

 

“Exactly,” he murmured darkly, “I said about me, not to me.”

 

“Oh,” Louis whispered, eyes not leaving Harry’s profile as the latter faced forward again.

 

He didn’t reply but stopped in front of one of the doors on the right side of the hall. Louis unknowingly blocked the way, eyes still fixated on the man’s in front of him. Harry sighed and stepped forward, crowding into Louis’ space, both of their colognes and breaths tangling together. Harry remained far enough for Louis to move if he wanted to, but neither of them budged for an unknown matter of seconds.

 

That same feeling poured itself like a sweet red wine into Harry’s veins then; a warm, relaxing feeling that began in his chest and flowed to his fingertips, making him slightly drunk with its sensation. Louis was simply looking at him with innocent, confused baby blues and Harry was frozen in place, watching the rise and fall of his companion’s chest, the anticipation in the teeth that tore his bottom lip. It was inebriating, yet terrifyingly unfamiliar.

 

“Harry...” Louis’ voice was smaller, muffled by the haze Harry was in. It reminded him fleetingly of being underwater. He blinked repeatedly, and Louis’ voice gradually grew more clear as he asked, “Harry, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

 

Harry was thrust back into reality at the question. It had too many answers to be asked in such a vague manner. Honestly, what wasn’t wrong?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “What’s wrong, Harry? You look like you’re going to throw up.” Anne asked, her eyes darting between her son and the yoga mat in front of her. _

 

_ Harry pocketed his flip phone and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to possibly soothe his oncoming migraine. “This whole Louis and Zayn fiasco is putting a major dent in my negotiations with the Edwards family. I have too much relying on this wedding to let it go down the drain now. Not that it was his doing intentionally, but Louis is royally fucking up my business overnight.” Harry felt the swat to his arm before it happened. _

 

_ “Language, Harry. Christ, you’d think that you being at an office all the time would get you to stop that.” _

 

_ Harry rolled his eyes when Anne went back to the position she was in. “Sorry, mum.” _

 

_ “Maybe I should talk to the boy,” Anne suggested distantly, slowly rolling her back to stand up straight, then bending to some awkward yoga position Harry didn’t know the name of. It looked rather painful. _

 

_ “Oh yeah?” he said, grabbing a bottle of water for his mother off of a nearby shelf, “And say what?” _

 

_ She sighed and stood up straight, giving the mirror a few meters away from her a polite look, as if she was talking to Louis himself. “Louis, you’re absolutely precious, a real gem, but Zayn has the attention span of a drunk squirrel. He’ll lose interest by the end of the week. Sorry, love.” _

 

_ Harry winced a bit and handed the bottle to his mother, meeting her eyes in the mirror as he pulled his hair into a bun. “That seems a little blunt, don’t you think?” _

 

_ “Maybe he needs blunt, Harry. The boy is playing on dangerous grounds.” she said sternly, a motherly form of concern present in her tone. She had known Louis for as long as the family had hired Jo as the chef. All things considered, she had a soft spot for the boy. It was easy to see. _

 

_ “Maybe. Either way, this is a mess that never should have happened,” Harry said, adjusting the buttons on his shirt before stepping back towards the door. “I’m not sure how I’m going to fix this, but, god willing, I  _ am _ going to fix this. This happened in one day, and I can end it in two. Sure, he’s a gem, mum, but I’m not letting some rock cost me over one million pounds.” _

 

_ And with that, he left. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Harry could see now that his plan was proving to contain some flaws. He had no idea how to deal with someone like Louis. To everyone in sight, Louis was proving to be important and enchanting.

 

It was obvious, even to Harry, that someone like Louis was  _ special _ .

 

That thought caused the gravity of what Harry was feeling hit him like a freight train. Is this what his step-brother had meant? This deceiving warmth and excitement that came with being in Louis’ presence? There was a word for it, but he wasn’t sure he was willing to admit what it was. It wasn’t healthy or natural for someone like Harry himself to feel this way by any means, was it? This boy wasn’t a gem at all. He was a witch. He had to be. This had to be witchcraft, surely.

 

Harry realized that his theory seemed a bit far-fetched, but barely. Maybe he was going crazy. Louis was making him crazy.

 

“You have made me feel more insane in these past few days than I’ve ever felt in my entire life,” he said. Louis’ nose scrunched up endearingly, and Harry confirmed silently to himself that he now believed in the supernatural. “Stop it.”

 

“Stop what, you lunatic?” Louis seemed to grasp his surroundings at that moment, too, and Harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening. He took a deep breath through his nose and looked up to the heavens before composing himself and giving Louis a blank expression, one that Louis had grown up knowing. It was cold, emotionless.

 

“Stop standing in front of the door. You’re blocking it,” was all he replied with. Louis moved, dropping the encounter entirely, confusion surrounding both of them heavily.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Zayn? Zayn? Zay- Can he even hear me?” Louis’ eyes widened as Zayn continued snoring into his pillow, unresponsive.

 

Harry frowned and shrugged. He leaned forward on the other side of the bed in an attempt to get close to his brother’s ear. His mouth was only about half a meter away when he all but shouted, “ _ Zayn _ !”

 

The younger brother sniffed and gasped, his eyes snapping open and darting around the room frantically. His eyes landed on Louis, who had a slow smile growing on his face.

 

“Louis? Lou? Is that you?” Zayn broke out into a fit of giggles, his torso bouncing in the bed, “That rhymed.” He winced at the pain that shot up his spine but began giggling again just as suddenly, reaching for Louis’ hand, mumbling nonsense that he himself understood to be compliments and smooth talking.

 

Neither Louis nor Harry were amused.

 

“What the hell is he on?” Louis whispered as Harry made his way to his left, the businessman chuckle a bit.

 

“He insisted that the pain was an eight from a scale of one to ten, so the nurse hooked him up to an IV and doped him up on morphine or something similar.” He pointed to the clear bag hanging next to the bed Zayn sat in, still playing with Louis’ fingers.

 

“He’s  _ high  _ right now?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

Louis whipped his head back to Zayn, smiling and laughing at the younger brother, who laughed along for no reason other than that another person was doing it. “Right,” Louis said. “Zayn, how are you feeling?”

 

Zayn tried to sit up, but winced in pain as he found himself to be too heavy to do so. “Heavy.”

 

Harry scoffed somewhere behind them, but Louis just rolled his eyes and smiled back at Zayn, who was glaring at his step-brother. “Yeah? That’s probably the medication, mate.” Harry said.

 

“You must be in a lot of pain,” Louis said sympathetically, clutching Zayn’s hand in concern, the feeling shown on his face as well.

 

“I am in a lot of pain. I’m-” Zayn cut himself off, his eyes slowly trailing down to their clasped hands, making him smile again. “Aw, look at your little hand.”

 

Louis slipped the hand away and stood up straight, a slightly disturbed frown etched into his lips.

 

“He should probably rest some more,” Harry commented, getting Louis to face him. Louis nodded once before waving to Zayn, who whined like a young child who was having their toy taken away.

 

“No!” he dragged out the word with an obvious pout. “Louis, stay here with me.”

 

Louis looked back at Harry, who gave him a smirk and whispered, “See? He wants you around. He must still be delusional,” earning him a squawk and a series of not-so-painful slaps to his bicep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The two exited the room after a significant amount of struggle and the tension was rising once more. Harry grabbed a wide-rimmed fedora on his way out, noting the sun getting higher through the windows. Louis waited for him at the foyer of the poolhouse, his manners still in tact despite the recent events of the morning. He was a gentleman, thank you very much.

 

“Well, he should be getting better very soon. He’s more of a drama queen than anything,” Harry said, eyes trained on his boots as he passed Louis on his way to the door. Louis hummed in acknowledgement and took a step back to let him pass.

 

“Right,” he responded. “Thank you for letting me see him. I know you didn’t have to or want to.”

 

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbled, his hand fumbling with the black hat in his hands. “See you later, then.”

 

“Goodbye, Harry.”

 

Harry debated with himself as he heard Louis’ shoes padding away towards the back door across the poolhouse. He jerked around the hat in his hands three times and let his eyes bounce between two tiles in front of him before groaning to himself and turning around at a snail’s pace. “Actually, um, I hear you have a camera.” He watched Louis stop and turn. The glass panes from the back door surrounded him in sunlight, and his lips parted slightly as he began to speak. Harry had some Shakespearean line to describe the motion, but he couldn’t identify it.

 

“I do, yes. Why?”

 

“It’s nothing, really. Just. The family has this boathouse near Rochester that we never use, and I wanted to sell it, put it on the market. It’s just… I wanted to take those pictures that make it look bigger than it is, you know?” Harry let out a humorless chuckle, and for what seemed like the first time, but not really, he felt like Harry was crumbling a little bit. His callous exterior was cracking to show bits of the slightly insecure young man, the boy that was camping out inside. It broke Louis’ heart a little bit. “I was just wondering if maybe you would take them for me. It wouldn’t be a problem. We would just take a quick flight in the helicopter after I make a few phone calls, and we’d get dropped off privately and bam, we’re done. It’s better than taking planes; planes are for the public,” he rambled, putting the hat atop his curls and patting it into place before meeting Louis’ eyes.

 

The smaller man had his mouth opened just slightly in shock and his brows were reaching up towards his hairline. Harry cursed, “Shit, you’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?”

 

“Um, no.”

  
“Oh… Was that too much to ask?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments !! Kudos !! I'm sorry that I suck at updating !!


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